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Jan’s Posted Daily Fresh Real News
© 2002: JAN COX
January 25, 2002. Your potting shed.
One man has a game he plays with himself
whereby he tries to do a certain “un natural” thing,
and not only that — but wants to make it become a natural part of his behavior.
A son said to a father:
“Since you say that fierce originality and total creativity are a necessity in TheGrandExpedition,
it would seem that inventors would also be involved in wanting to wake up,”
and pater replied:
“No, their interest is in changing things outside themselves,
while ours is exclusively inward,” and after pondering this for a moment the lad said:
“Then it would seem that artists should also be on the search for TheSecert,”
but the elder responded:
“No again; ours is a struggle to create something entirely new
while their efforts are confined to criticizing what already is;”
the younger took this under brief advisement, then brightly said:
“Ah! Then critics are actually encouraging originality and thus subtly seeking enlightenment themselves through their pointing out of the flaws in what already is,”
“No; minds that are blemish-attuned are anchored to the past
and thus incapable of being fresh and creative,”
and son then asked:
“Then is there no ordinary human activity in which men engage that in and of itself should lead them into a true understanding of what life is about?”
“Yes — being alive.”
In one land is an ancient legend which says that the gods made complicated ideas for ordinary men, and simple ones for the awakened.
One man began to conceive of his mind as a rolling freight train
with an endless number of connected cars
and stable consciousness as the stopping of it.
In re The Slipperiness Of This Whole Affair:
One man wanted to be different; the challenge was that the thing in him that wanted to be different was also the thing it wanted to be different from.
The difficult thing to grasp and that will put a crick quick in your wrist,
grabbing around for it is that people on the roof say that they can see
not only those on the ground but themselves as well
while those on the ground will not admit to seeing anyone.
One father’s note to a son:
“Men will offer to help you under two, unacknowledged conditions:
one is that they will not actually have to do anything,
and the other is that if they do actually have to do-something,
they will not have to know what they are doing.”
The son took this, as always, to refer not to him and other people,
but to him and him.
In re Men’s Routine Mental World & What Passes For Originality
In The Absence Of The Real Thing:
All whores pimp for one another.
TheGreatSecret of what is actually going on
is one secret that does not have to be kept secret from men,
for based on their actions: no one wants to know it.
From the few’s view: like life throws a party for itself;
sends everyone an invitation, the reading of which instantly makes you unsure if you were invited or not.
There was once a mysterious school secluded deep in faraway mountains that was devoted to TheGreatSecret which went by the name:
“Out In The Open” and many who said they were interested in TheSecret,
could not locate it — and those who did, pretended that they did not.
Knights on remedial missions have missed the whole point of the quest.
The tools of the RealWarrior are so unusual that
he could not fix anything even if he wanted to.
Originality does not back-up,
and everything that seemed broken and infirm is always behind you,
and only the avant garde rider realizes it.
It is either: stay ahead or stay dead;
either stay ahead of you or remain you — and exactly “who are you?” —
whoever you think you are at this moment — which just went behind you,
and is no longer or ever again of any significance in the life of
a true knight.
Posture means nothing to a dead man, nor TheSecret to mundane minds.
And one man was suddenly stopped in his tracks:
“Mien got! What if there really is a conspiracy?! —
and what if it is all mental! —
and by the qualified against the unqualified?!”
and his son warmly grasped the whole crazy idea to their own neural bosom —
right where it belonged.
Can you begin to conceive of an actual situation wherein there is a magician
performing amazing tricks before real audiences world wide
which consist of nothing but himself?…………….no?! —
this is how TheSecret hides from itself….which keeps ordinary men
just uncertain enough to make them get up everyday and go play in the second reality while struggling to take it seriously.
Simple men do the physical dance;
sophisticated men, the verbal;
those-who-know, wax the floors and play in the band.
One man could look up in the sky and see things no one else could see.
The roof of TheRealRevolutionist’s universe is the top of his skull;
it’s true for everyone, but he alone admits it.
The ordinary say they are looking for ThePrize,
but they are only dancing in the secondary ballroom,
while constantly looking around in there to see who is looking at them.
In a strange land where TheSecret was also called, TheMind
they claimed that things which cannot see themselves
are forced into trying to get other things which also cannot see themselves
to tell them what they look like.
(And the son of that curious place grabbed these words and shoved them
into the useful crack in his head from whence they fell in the first place.)
And TheDeliciousDetective said: “Yeah, I know all about that thing:
it’ll never rat on itself;
I beat the sucker for years, but with no results,
and the weirdness was that it wanted to confess — and just couldn’t,”
he shook his head in wonder: “Think about it: it wanted to talk, but couldn’t!
Oh! — it could talk alright — just not about itself,”
and a rookie standing nearby injected:
“But Sarge, remember: it did talk about itself,”
“Yeah, but do you remember what a crock it all was” –
……and the rookie remembered……..the rookie was it.
The tricky thing about the mind’s plagiarism is that
when it is plagiarizing someone else’s ideas for the first time
it can feel it is doing something original.
There was a man who would attempt various exercises in his pursuit of
a certain unusual goal, though there was no assurance that any of them were particularly fitting, and when his son made note of this he said that:
any exercise was better than none at all–
an attitude to which there is a paucity of persuasive demurs.
He who tries not,
in proper time, dies not.
Nothing will keep you like you are mentally
like thinking that you ARE what you keep thinking.
Look up in the sky:
look down on the ground, but for god’s sake:
go outside more.
And a father said to a son:
“Since fierce originality and total creativity are a necessity in TheGrandExpedition, it would behoove those who want to join it
to get away from themselves as much as possible;
for who, if not you, is the living embodiment of all that is
redundant, derivative and dense?!”
and son squealed with the delight-of-recognition.
Another advantage held by the SecretWarrior is that in his line of work
it is not possible to be wounded by, friendly fire.
…..oh, all right: it’s not possible for him to be wounded;
in man’s second reality ballroom, all feet stepped on are imaginary feet.
And one man was finally able to move his hand freely —
— once he let go of it.
……and one guy had a motto: “Don’t be sick — DIE!”
Let go, dammit! — let go.
…..and this email just in from a reader: “I was about to write you to say that I do desperately want to — ‘let go’ — but don’t know from what ?! —
but figured if I did that you’d say: ‘from the thing in me saying that it doesn’t knowfrom what’ — so why bother. Sincerely,” etc.
……and a son asked his father: “Does, ‘go outside more’ refer to literally getting out of your house?”
…..and yet another email arrives: “I intended to write and accuse you of ‘playing-with-my-mind’ — but then decided I should be grateful —
saves me the trouble…….plus I’m not near as good at it. Yours,” and so on.
Reminder: A shallow man is a deep man.